


Unfortunate Solutions

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Past Abuse, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5809156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months after their first night together, Hawke and Fenris are captured by slavers. Hawke is badly injured in the process and Fenris offers himself to one of the slavers to get the supplies he needs to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfortunate Solutions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this kink meme prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/10749.html?thread=41537277#t41537277
> 
> I cannot overemphasise the noncon warning enough.

"This is a waste of time."

The snap of anger in the man's voice tugs Hawke back to wakefulness. His head hurts when he turns it, the unpleasant throb of a headache making itself known, and opening his eyes remains a bridge too far.

"Why did you even bring him back here?"

The man is still angry, the trace of an accent bleeding through with his impatience, but Hawke isn't awake enough to recognise the voice.

"We're only here for the elf," the man growls. "The magister isn't going to pay us for hauling some half-dead peasant across half of Thedas."

Hawke frowns. Distantly, red flags are fluttering at the mention of an elf and a magister -- historically a bad combination -- but his attention catches on the description of himself. He hasn't been a peasant for more than a year now and he's definitely only a quarter dead.

"We thought-" someone starts but the first voice cuts in before he can finish.

"You thought what? We're paid to deliver slaves, not corpses. I'd be surprised if that one lasted another night, let alone the trip back to Tevinter." He huffs out an irritated sigh. "Just kill him and be done with it."

"No!"

That voice Hawke recognises. He eases his eyes open, wanting to see (and then hopefully punch) whoever is making Fenris sound so desperate. Unfortunately, a quick scan of his surroundings brings only a barrage of bad news.

He's on the ground in what looks to be a cave. His clothes are crusted with dried blood in places and wet with still flowing blood in others, and every breath provides an insistent reminder of just how badly hurt he is. (His memory is blurry but he thinks some daggers may have been involved. Potentially also a spear.)

He's in a makeshift cell, bars running from the ground to the rocks, but any concerns about his own less-than-ideal situation are overridden when he sees that Fenris is locked in the cell next to him. He's shackled with dried blood staining his hands, face and armor, but he's upright with his fingers curled around the bars of the cell so he's ahead of Hawke in that respect.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, knife-ear."

The owner of the voice he'd heard earlier approaches Fenris' cage. He looks Nevarran, perhaps southern Tevinter, but judging by the lash on his belt and the cluster of armed men on the other side of the cave, it's not a stretch to arrive at his career choice.

The slaver slams the hilt of his dagger against the bars of the cage and Fenris pulls his hands back just in time to avoid broken knuckles.

"Please," Fenris says. "I can tend to him. I just need some supplies."

The man laughs. "Oh, is that all?" His mirth disappears in an instant, replaced only by iron as he says, "You seem to have forgotten your place, elf. Slaves don't get to make demands."

"You can sell him," Fenris tries again. "He's strong. You'll get good coin for him once you're out of the Free Marches."

Even with his vision still foggy around the edges, Hawke frowns at the suggestion. He has no intention of being sold and certainly not while Fenris is still held captive.

"You're assuming he's going to live until we're out of the Free Marches." The slaver looks at Hawke with disgust. "Wounds like that will see him off quick." He folds his arms. "Besides, your master's only paying us to drag your sorry hide back to Tevinter. Somehow I doubt he'll have much interest in some worthless farmer you spread your legs for."

Fenris flinches at that, eyes darting to Hawke for a moment before flitting away. The memory of their one night together is still fresh in Hawke's mind but he does his best to keep his face blank when the slaver looks between them again.

"Don't look so concerned, slave," the man taunts. "It's a long journey back to Tevinter. I'm sure my men would be more than happy to meet your needs on the way."

Anger flares in Hawke's chest but his attempt to voice it only ends in a pained groan.

"Just think about it," Fenris says with an anxious glance in Hawke's direction. "You'll be able to sell him for far more than the cost of the supplies. All you need to do is let me tend to him."

"And risk you two planning some kind of escape?" The leader sneers. "Unlikely."

"Please." Fenris' hands curl around the bars again. "I'll trade for supplies."

"Trade?" He chuckles as he looks Fenris up and down. "I don't know that my men are going to have much use for that fancy armor of yours and I can't say that you've got much else to offer, slave."

"You can have me."

Hawke frowns, lost, but Fenris holds his ground when the man steps forward, a smirk on his face. "This may come as news to you, knife-ear, but we can already have you whenever we want. I snap my fingers and my boys'll head in there and fuck you 'til you can't stand."

"I'll come willingly," Fenris says. "Give me supplies and let me treat him and I'll do whatever you want." He meets the man's eyes. "But only you."

Laughter ripples through the assembled slavers and the leader steps back, smiling. "Demanding little whore, aren't you?"

"I'm well-trained." There's an icy confidence in Fenris' voice which Hawke barely recognises. "Why do you think my master is so eager to have me returned?"

Hawke's stomach drops at the confirmation. It's not a surprise, not really -- he's heard the stories about how slaves are used in Tevinter -- but the thought of Fenris being subjected to that makes him want to throw up.

"He's lying, Gauld," one of the other slavers pipes up. "What about that lyrium in him? It's gotta be worth a fortune."

"He could buy three wagons of lyrium for the amount he's spent on mercenaries like you," Fenris says. He's terrifyingly calm for someone who's negotiating his own rape. "He wants me more than he wants my markings."

One of the slavers lets out a low whistle and Hawke grits his teeth when he sees the leader -- Gauld, apparently -- glance back, sizing up the reaction.

"You better be a damn good fuck," he says eventually.

Fenris doesn't blink. "I am. Now let me tend to him."

"Now, now," Gauld says. "I'm giving the orders here, slave." He smiles as he eyes Fenris like a piece of meat. "Strip."

"No-"

It hurts to talk. Hawke's throat is parched but it's the shooting pain in his side which leaves him gasping in agony as the slavers look on.

"Wasn't asking you," Gauld says with a grin. "But maybe I'll let you watch. Not often a man gets to see just what his life's worth."

Hawke concentrates on his breathing when Fenris begs, "Give him a health potion first. Just to keep him stable."

"Fine." Gauld nods to one of his underlings and a bottle comes rolling to rest against Hawke's side. "Wouldn't want him to miss out the fun." His voice sharpens. "Now your turn."

The bottle is slippery in Hawke's blood-damp hands but he pops the cork and drains it in one swallow. The effect is instantaneous, his headache fading and the pain in his side lessening to a dull roar, and it's just about enough to let him prop himself up on his elbow to watch Fenris peel his leggings off.

Laughter rises again, the furthest slavers craning their necks to get a better look, and Hawke catches more than one muffled comment about Fenris' markings. Already stripped of his gauntlets, it's easy for Fenris to unbuckle his chestplate and armor, dropping Hawke's crest to the ground with them, and he pulls his tunic up over his head and arms until it's hanging from his bound wrists.

"Open it up," Gauld says. "Cut that the rest of the way off."

Two lackeys oblige, pulling the cell door open and hacking at the material around Fenris' wrists until he's left in only his shackles and smallclothes. The manacles look like ordinary metal, nothing Fenris hasn't been able to phase through before, and Hawke swallows hard at the evidence that Fenris is only letting himself be this vulnerable because of him.

"Not bad." Gauld's taller than Fenris, maybe even a little taller than Hawke, and Fenris winces in pain when Gauld grabs a fistful of his hair. The grip forces him up onto his toes and Fenris has no choice but to follow as Gauld hauls him out of the cell.

It's more of a display than an inspection, keeping Fenris stretched and stumbling for the amusement of his men as his free hand roams over Fenris' hips and thighs. "Bit skinny for my tastes but I hear that's how the magister likes 'em. At least we shouldn't need to feed him too often on the journey."

"Stop it!"

Even the weak shout is an effort and Hawke closes his eyes against his spinning vision as he breathes past the pain in his gut. When he opens them, it's to find Gauld watching him, hand still caught in Fenris' hair.

"I can pay you," Hawke says, close to begging. "I'll give you more than what Danarius is offering. Just let us go."

"Hey now, I'm an honorable man," Gauld says, with a smile that looks anything but. "I'm not about to back out of a deal. Not with the magister and not with your knife-eared whore here." He chuckles. "You must be one lousy fuckin' lay if this slut's offering to spread his legs for the first man that comes along."

He motions to his men and Hawke looks around to see two slavers train their crossbows on him through the bars. There are at least ten of them scattered through the cave, maybe more beyond his line of sight, and Hawke goes still when Gauld says, "Now, you keep your fuckin' mouth shut or my boys'll put so many holes in you that the knife-ear'll have to fuck the whole town to patch you up."

Fenris' face is pale when he meets Hawke's eyes.

Gauld chuckles. "Looks like he's not so keen on that idea."

Hawke slumps back to the floor with a wince. "Fuck you."

He jerks back up again at Fenris' cry of pain and looks over to see him on his knees, winded and holding his stomach.

"Well," Gauld says, grinning, "that seems effective."

His hand finds Fenris' hair again and Fenris struggles to get his feet under him as he's dragged over to a chest on the other side of the cave.

"Pick what you need to heal him," Gauld says. "You do a good job for me and I might actually let him have them."

Fenris gets to work, inspecting or sniffing bottle after bottle until there's a stack of bandages, herbs and potions on the cave floor. Hawke frowns when he sees what looks like deathroot among them but when Fenris sets some drakestone beside it, his confusion about Fenris' lack of medical knowledge is soon replaced by gratitude towards Fenris' excellent grenade-making knowledge.

The thought of an escape plan, however far off, is a soothing one but any positive thoughts are soon lost when Gauld backhands Fenris hard across the face.

The force of the blow is enough to knock him to the dirt and Fenris stays down when Gauld barks, "That's more than enough. You want to save your boyfriend, you get to work."

Fenris' shoulders are tense as he starts to push himself to his feet but Gauld makes a disapproving noise as he stands over him. "Did I say you could walk, slave?"

Fenris sinks back down to his knees, defeated, but only gets another smack across the face when he turns to face Gauld. Hawke's seen Fenris receive worse blows in dozens of fights but hot fury boils inside him at the sight of him like this, bound, kneeling and forced to just _take it_ as Gauld leans down to spit in his face.

"You answer me when I speak to you," Gauld orders.

Fenris nods, eyes lowered. "Yes."

Another blow lands, Gauld's ring opening up a cut down Fenris' cheek.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, ser."

A slap this time, cruel and open-palmed.

"What was that, _slave_?"

Fenris' eyes fall closed for an instant but his tone is one of quiet submission when he answers, "Yes, master."

"Better."

The next slap seems more for Gauld's amusement rather than a correction of any kind. Fenris' cheek reddens at the contact but he stays on his knees as their captor paces into the middle of the room, playing to the crowd when he orders, "Heel, slave."

Fenris' expression is blank as he lowers himself to his hands and knees and crawls obediently over to sit at Gauld's feet. The slavers jeer as he goes, a couple of them landing a smack to his ass and thighs on the way, and Hawke curses his own body for not cooperating as he watches Fenris shiver under their gaze.

Fenris reaches up to unfasten Gauld's pants but Gauld catches the chain between his wrists before he can get further than the first lace. "I think we should start lower, don't you?"

He lets go of the chain long enough to plant his booted foot on it. The position keeps Fenris' wrists pinned to the ground and Fenris looks up in confusion as Gauld says, "I want to see some gratitude first. It'd be a lot easier to just put a bolt through the peasant's skull."

Hawke's expecting a forced 'thank you' at best but his chest tightens when Fenris leans down to kiss Gauld's filthy boots. "Thank you, master."

The slavers laugh, one of them tossing Hawke some bandages as a reward, and Gauld runs his fingers over the handle of the whip on his belt as he says, "The position suits you, whore. Maybe I'll save on boot-black and start having you lick them clean every night."

Fenris hesitates, waiting for the order, but Gauld only straightens up, lifting his foot off the chain. "Not today though. Maker knows what I've stepped in -- I'd rather have your mouth on my dick."

Fenris nods, docile and obedient, and this time Gauld doesn't object when he reaches up to unfasten his pants. His cock is hard already, jutting out thick and ruddy from his smallclothes, and he doesn't wait for Fenris' approval before grabbing a fistful of his hair and pushing deep into his mouth.

"Here you go, whore."

Hawke can see the convulsive movement of Fenris' chest as he gags and his hands curl into fists when Gauld pulls out, rubbing his spit-soaked cock against Fenris' face as he chokes and coughs. The slaver holding the supplies doesn't move and Hawke grits his teeth against the pain in his side as Fenris catches his breath.

His face is smeared with spit when he looks up at Gauld. Hawke finds himself hoping for defiance, for Fenris to bite down on Gauld's cock and tear through the rest of slavers like he's done so many times before, but as the crossbows stay trained on Hawke's cell, Fenris just opens his mouth and takes Gauld as deep as he can.

One of the slavers whistles, impressed, and even Gauld looks surprised when Fenris takes every inch of it, nose brushing Gauld's stomach as he holds it there as long as he can. A fresh potion rolls to Hawke's side -- regen this time, offering slower but more thorough healing -- and he downs it as Fenris pulls back.

"Damn," Gauld says, smirking, "gotta give the magister credit. Old fuck trained you well."

His hold tightens on Fenris' hair, forcing him down on his dick as he sets a punishing pace, but Fenris adapts quickly, much to the amusement of the men watching.

Hawke remembers this from their one night together, the readiness with which Fenris sank to his knees and the emptiness in his eyes when he took Hawke as deep as he could. It was unsettling then, enough that Hawke had coaxed him back to his feet and spent the next hour lavishing careful attention on him in bed, but when the slaver tosses him some ingredients for a salve, Hawke decides it's so much worse now.

He takes the reward -- he can't refuse, not when Fenris is being subjected to this on his behalf and not when he's too weak to stop it -- but doesn't take his eyes off Fenris for more than a moment. Gauld's movements are jerkier now, fucking Fenris' throat with fresh enthusiasm, and Hawke finds himself praying that this is it, that he comes like this and spares Fenris any further humiliation.

The Maker hasn't been listening to him so far and when Gauld pulls back, breathing heavily, Hawke realises he isn't about to start now.

"Andraste's arse," Gauld says, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck licking my boots -- I'm going to keep my cock down that throat the whole way back to Minrathous."

Fenris is breathing hard when he looks up at Gauld. His face is a mess, lips swollen and cheeks bruised, and he cries out when Gauld yanks hard on his hair. "I'm not finished with you yet, knife-ear." He kicks Fenris' thigh. "Take them off."

Even a momentary hesitation earns Fenris another brutal smack across the face and Hawke pulls himself to a sitting position as he begs, "Stop."

Fresh blood runs from his wound and he ignores the rush of dizziness as he pleads with Fenris as much as Gauld, "You don't need to do this. Please."

Fenris' gaze darts from the potions and ingredients he's already earned to those still in the slaver's custody. The drakestone and deathroot are still there, waiting to be won, and when Fenris looks back up at Gauld, Hawke knows his decision has already been made.

Fenris' voice is rough and quiet when he asks, "How do you want me?"

"All fours," Gauld says, sneering. "How else would I fuck an animal?"

Fenris nods, exhaling in relief when Gauld lets go of his hair, and he peels his smallclothes off as Gauld gestures to one of his men. "Colter, find some oil."

Stripped naked, Fenris sits back on his heels as he waits for the oil but another slaver plants a boot between Fenris' shoulderblades to kick him forward. His reflexes are the only thing which keep him from breaking his nose on the ground beneath him and instead he lands hard on his elbows as Colter moves behind him.

"I can-" Fenris starts but is silenced by a kick to his ribs as Colter pops the oil open.

Another boot hooks over the chain of his shackles, pulling his arms forward, and Fenris goes still as his face is forced to the ground, his ass raised for Colter's attentions.

He flinches sharply when Colter spits on him, spreading his cheeks to land it on his hole. Colter's smile is cruel when he spits again, loud and purposeful, and a flush of humiliation covers Fenris' cheeks as he hides his face against the ground.

"Today, Colter," Gauld orders, hand on his dick.

Hawke can't do anything but watch as Colter coats two fingers in oil and pushes them inside Fenris without hesitation. Fenris jerks at the intrusion, biting down on his lip to muffle his cries, and Colter forces his thighs wider as he stretches him open on his fingers. As preparation goes, it's perfunctory at best but it's apparently enough to earn Hawke the deathroot which he gathers up gladly.

"Fucking slut," Colter mutters to Fenris, fucking his fingers in up to the knuckle. "Bet you'd take my whole hand, wouldn't you, whore?"

"Later," Gauld says, giving Colter a smack on the arm. He withdraws reluctantly, wiping his hand on Fenris' thigh, and Gauld steps up, smiling. "It's a long way back to Tevinter. We'll have plenty of time to experiment. But in the meantime..."

He lowers himself to his knees -- favouring his left side, Hawke notes -- and grips Fenris' hip with one hand as he lines himself up behind him. Fenris' arms are shaking as he pushes himself back up to his hands and knees but he closes his eyes with a barely concealed shudder when Gauld palms his ass greedily.

"Come on, slave," Gauld taunts. "Let me hear you beg."

"You son of a-" Hawke spits but Fenris cuts in before he can finish.

"Please," he says quietly. "Please fuck me, master."

Gauld laughs, loud and mocking, and he gives Fenris' ass a harsh slap as he says, "Now how am I supposed to refuse a request like that?"

He reaches down between their bodies and Hawke can't stop himself from watching, horrified, as Gauld pushes slowly inside. Fenris cries out beneath him, back arching and fingers curling into fists, and his body jolts forward with every push deeper.

"Fuck, you're tight," Gauld says, panting as he eases partway out before slamming back in again. A whimper escapes Fenris but that only seems to embolden Gauld further as he tightens his grip on Fenris' hips and begins to thrust in faster. "Move, whore."

Fenris obeys, bracing himself on his elbows as he pushes back to meet Gauld's thrusts. The lyrium glows faintly, nowhere near as bright as Hawke remembers from their night together, but Gauld reaches for it anyway, smoothing his hand over Fenris' back and ass in amazement. "Maker, that feels good."

A poultice and more salve ingredients land at Hawke's side. It's an effort not to throw them back in the slaver's face -- they're not worth this, _he's_ not worth this -- but the thought of the deathroot and blowing Gauld's disgusting head clean off his shoulders stays his hand.

In front of him, Gauld's movements get faster and Hawke's stomach drops when he sees him uncoil the whip from his belt.

"Come on, slave," Gauld barks, already breathless, "let me hear you."

Fenris' arms buckle at the first crack of the whip across his shoulders. He gasps in pain, struggling to get back up to his elbows, but Gauld brings it down again and again until Fenris has righted himself and started pushing back in earnest to meet Gauld's thrusts.

Gauld moans with pleasure, bringing the whip down again as he grunts, "Fuck, you just tighten right up every time." The whip paints another welt across Fenris' spine as he asks, "Does your magister know about this? How fuckin' good you feel when you're getting beat?"

Fenris cries out as the whip comes down, eyes squeezed shut as he gasps, "Y- Yes, master."

"If I wasn't such a noble guy, I'd be having second thoughts about giving you back," Gauld says."Maybe I'll have you magister pay me extra now I know what you're worth."

His breathing is getting harsher, thrusts growing more erratic, but he lashes out once more with the whip. It's a careful stroke this time, coiling the length of it around Fenris' throat, and Fenris' eyes go wide in panic as he's yanked back on his makeshift leash.

He chokes, bound hands clutching at the leather, but there's nothing he can do as Gauld hauls him upright, still fucking in hard and fast.

"The knife-ear wasn't lying, boys," Gault says, his voice ragged as he nears completion. "Little whore's a damn good fuck."

Fenris gasps uselessly for air, held back against Gauld's body as he drives into him again and again. Hawke opens his mouth to protest on Fenris' behalf but shuts it in an instant when the slaver tosses over the jar of deathroot as the next reward.

It's an effort to tear his eyes away from Fenris long enough to prepare the mixture. The two slavers with crossbows are equally distracted, both rubbing the tents in the front of their pants as they watch Fenris struggle to breathe, and it's the work of a moment to fill the two potion bottles with drakestone and deathroot in equal measure.

They're smoking already when Hawke pushes the corks back in, heat and pressure building, and he looks up at the slavers' cheers to see Gauld shove Fenris to the ground. His dick slips free and Hawke narrows his eyes in disgust when Gauld finishes himself off with his hand, spend splattering over Fenris' ass and lower back as he comes with a grunt.

The temptation to land a grenade between his eyes is overwhelming.

The bottles glow hot in Hawke's hands, the mixture roiling inside them, but rationality wins out over rage as he pushes himself up to a sitting position and lets them fly.

The two men with crossbows are dead as soon as the grenades hit.

It's quick for one, a gaping hole blown in his chest with enough force to send the two men next to him flying back against the stone wall. The second archer staggers, screaming, as his clothes and skin are set aflame and Hawke watches with satisfaction as he burns three more slavers in his panic. The rest scramble for their weapons, looking around for the source of the attack, and Hawke finds himself holding his breath as he looks over at Fenris.

Relief sweeps over him when Fenris' lyrium ignites.

He's on his feet in seconds, the leash and shackles falling away as he tears the throat from one slaver and the intestines from another. There's maybe four men left at full strength when he spins, plus another two who are burned but armed, and Hawke presses a hand to his stomach as he drags himself over to one of the corpses slumped against the bars.

The burned men don't put up much of a fight. Fenris punches through the skull of one before slamming his shoulder into the other to send him tumbling onto the flaming corpse of his colleague. His hands drip with blood as he turns, arms raised in a defensive stance, and Hawke tries not to look at the matching rivulets running from the welts on his back.

Two of the slavers rush Fenris at once, swords in hand, but he's a blur as he darts away, putting his back to the wall and glancing over at Hawke. A fresh gush of blood spills from Hawke's wound but he manages a nod of reassurance to Fenris before locating a dagger and landing it in the thigh of one of his attackers.

Fenris takes advantage of the opening, landing a solid kick to the man's knee and silencing his scream with a snap of his neck. He stumbles when the second slaver's blade catches his arm but the lyrium only glows brighter as he plunges his hand into the man's shoulder to sever the arm at the joint.

The man's shouts are blessedly brief, his throat crushed under Fenris' heel as he pivots to face the two surviving slavers. Even without his armor, he's still an imposing sight but Gauld and Colter show no signs of backing down as they circle him.

"You lying piece of shit," Gauld growls. "I'm going to break your legs and drag you back to Tevinter behind my fucking horse." He glances over his shoulder at Hawke. "Right after we gut your boyfriend and string him up for the crows. Colter!"

Disappointment flickers across Colter's face at the order but he turns on his heel and heads straight for Hawke's cell, sword in hand. Damaged by the explosions, it doesn't take more than a kick to break down the door and Hawke searches desperately for a weapon on the corpse as Fenris yells, "No!"

Hawke's fingers close around something small and sharp. The blade is tiny, used for picking stones out of horses' hooves, but as Colter comes at him, sword raised, it's the only option Hawke has left.

Colter's shriek when the knife lands in his eye is intensely satisfying. He goes down, clutching his bloodied face, and Hawke uses the last of his energy to lunge for him, wrenching the blade out of his socket and using it to slit his throat. Colter dies messily, blood bubbling in his open throat, and Hawke collapses back to the ground with a groan.

The world swims around him, his own blood loss making itself known, and he can't move his lips well enough to offer any comfort to Fenris when he looks over in panic. "Hawke!"

"Should've stuck with our deal, knife-ear," Gault spits. His smug superiority is gone, replaced with barely concealed fury as he raises his sword. "Fuck the magister. You aren't worth the fuckin' trouble to bring in alive."

Hawke's expecting some sort of comeback, ideally followed by Fenris tearing Gault's cock off and choking him to death with it, but Fenris' eyes don't leave Hawke as he steps forward, lyrium ablaze.

Gault's death is almost an afterthought. The swing of his sword passes through Fenris' arm like water and Fenris doesn't spare him more than a glance as he reaches in through armor and muscle and bone to close his fingers around his heart. Gault's eyes go wide and he grabs uselessly at Fenris' ghostly arm but Fenris is already moving away when he pulls his heart clean from his chest.

Gault's body sways and collapses, a stunned look frozen on his face, but Fenris is at the door to Hawke's cell before his corpse even hits the ground.

"Hawke!"

He's on his knees in an instant, wiping his bloodied hands on a cloth from Colter's body and settling it over his lap to cover himself as he looks at Hawke's wound with wide eyes. "Hawke, stay with me."

Hawke has no intention of going anywhere but the best he can manage to convey that is a quiet groan.

That evidently does nothing to lessen Fenris' concern. His fingers find Hawke's throat, checking his pulse, and his other hand curls in Hawke's shirt as he says, "We're going to get out here. I'll find the mage. He can heal you. I-" He swallows. "I'm sorry, Hawke."

For the life of him, Hawke can't think of a single thing Fenris should be apologising for. The fog of confusion only makes his vision darken further and he closes his eyes as he fights to cling onto consciousness.

"Hawke!" Fenris' grip on his shirt tightens, his other hand coming to rest against Hawke's cheek. "Hawke, no, please-"

Hawke passes out before he can finish.

 

**-**

 

 

Hawke wakes up to the smell of herbs, cats, and soup.

The soup smells distinctly carrot-y and he wrinkles his nose in disapproval. "No tomato?"

"Ha!"

Anders' noise of triumph is unexpected and Hawke cracks an eye open in confusion. "Mngh?"

"Varric owes me five silvers," Anders says as he comes swimming into his line of vision. "I knew you'd complain about the soup before you complained about the cats."

Something purrs smugly near Hawke's feet. Since opening his eyes is proving enough of a challenge, he ignores it in favor of focusing on Anders' face as he leans over him. To his surprise, his lips move on command and he grimaces at the unpleasant taste in his mouth before asking, "What happened?"

His throat is dry and Anders presses a cup of water into his hand before he can even ask for it.

"You were stabbed," Anders says bluntly, and Hawke winces as he looks down at his bandaged stomach. "Nearly bled to death before Fenris got you here."

"Fenris-"

The rush of memories after an injury isn't unfamiliar but Hawke's words catch in his throat when his brain fills in all the particular details of this injury. He remembers Fenris, remembers him stripped, choked, beaten, raped, and the blind fury is enough to propel him half out of the bed.

"Hey, hey!" Anders is there before he can stand, hands on Hawke's shoulders and a stern look on his face. "He only brought you in this morning. You're still healing -- you need to rest."

Hawke shakes his head. "I need to find Fenris."

Anders hesitates, eyes searching Hawke's face as he asks, concerned, "What happened to the two of you?"

"There were slavers," Hawke says. "We were captured and Fenris-" He pushes down the ugly details and settles for the truth. "Fenris got us out." He looks up at him. "Was he hurt? Did you heal him?"

"I had my hands full with you," Anders points out. "He looked beat up but no worse than he's been before."

The phrasing isn't comforting, especially in light of the confidence with which Fenris offered himself up to the slavers, and Hawke takes a sip of water as his still-healing wound pulses with pain. "Where is he?"

"The mansion, I'd guess," Anders says. "He stuck around until we were certain you were going to pull through then he took off. I think he's developing a thing for dramatic exits."

"I need to see him," Hawke says.

Anders frowns. "All right. I'll send someone to fetch-"

"No." Hawke's aware he's being grumpy but figures he can make it up to Anders at a time when Fenris hasn't recently apologised for saving Hawke's life. "I'll go to him. Give me a stick or something, will you?"

Anders' frown deepens. "To poke him with?"

Hawke sighs. "To walk, Anders. How do you jump straight to poking?"

"It's been a long day," Anders mutters. He moves away to search for a suitable stick and Hawke eases himself to his feet, holding onto the bed for balance as he downs the rest of the water. "You do need to take it easy. There's a lot of magic holding you together -- it's going to take at least until the morning to settle fully."

He passes Hawke a stick to lean on and Hawke takes an experimental step forward, smiling when the pain is less than anticipated. He turns to see Anders watching him, obviously worried, and offers what he hopes is a soothing smile. "See? I'm fine."

"Hmm."

"I will be fine," Hawke promises. "Thank you for the help. I promise one day I'll stop showing up at your door on the brink of death."

Anders' smile is tired but genuine. "A man can dream." He leans back against the bed, yawning, "Listen, if Fenris is hurt, I can-"

"I know," Hawke says. "Thanks, Anders."

"You're welcome," Anders says. He glances over at the soup. "Thanks for winning me those silvers."

 

 

**-**

 

 

Rationally, Hawke knows that Kirkwall isn't that big of a place but by the time he makes it from Darktown to the steps leading up to Fenris' mansion, he thinks he might actually be dying.

His side throbs, the magic shifting inside him with each step, and he wishes he'd had more than one cup of water when a headache starts to build. Hightown is quietening as the sun dips behind the houses -- templars, citizens, stallholders all making their way home -- and by the time he gets to the safety of Fenris' doorway, he's half-tempted to just sit down for a nap.

There's no response when he raps on the door with his stick but the door creaks open when he tests the lock.

"Fenris?"

It's been hours since the morning sun heated the place and the shadowy hallway is cool when he steps inside. "Fenris, are you here? It's me."

There's no answer.

"Me being Hawke," he adds lamely, in case there are other Fereldens who regularly show up to Fenris' house uninvited. "Fenris?"

Even in the gloom of the mansion, he can't miss the brightness of Fenris' hair when he appears in the doorway of one of the upstairs rooms.

"Hawke?!"

He's fairly sure Fenris would look less stunned if he'd died and appeared as an actual ghost.

"Hi," he says, hobbling further into the main room with an awkward wave. "I'm glad you're here."

"What-" Fenris looks him up and down in confusion. "You're hurt. You should be resting."

"Yes, Anders," Hawke teases but his smile fades when the joke doesn't provoke the expected scowl. "I'm okay," he says honestly. "All patched up. I just need a good night's sleep for it to settle in." His side aches unpleasantly and he admits, "Although I wouldn't be opposed to sitting down."

"Oh." Fenris hurries down the stairs to pull out one of the more stable chairs at his table. "I'm sorry. Sit. Do you want-" He stops himself, clearly short on things to offer guests. "I have water?"

"Water would be excellent," Hawke says.

The silence swamps them as Fenris pours out two cups of water but Hawke resists the urge to break it as he looks Fenris over. He doesn't know what he was expecting -- if he were in Fenris' place, there's a good chance he would just be curled up in the corner of his bedroom for a week -- but Fenris looks surprisingly put together.

His hair is damp and he's dressed in a too-big tunic over his usual leggings, presumably while his torn jerkin is repaired, but aside from the bandage on his arm and the bruises on his face, nothing seems that different.

The bruises in question are striking, purple-blue marks sitting high on Fenris' cheeks, and Hawke can't look at them without seeing Gauld's hand coming down again and again and again.

"I'm sorry for passing out in the middle of things last night," he says when Fenris takes a seat beside him. "As escape attempts go, that wasn't my finest hour."

Fenris frowns. "You were wounded. You fought well, considering."

"I don't know that I'd call it fighting," Hawke says. "I mostly stuck to throwing and lunging." He looks down, fiddling with the base of the cup as his guilt takes to center stage. "Of course, if I hadn't let myself get run through in the first place, neither of us would've been in that mess. You wouldn't have had to-"

He comes to a halt, unable to find the right words. Fenris curls in on himself, gaze fixed on the tabletop, and silence swallows them up again with ease.

"I'm sorry."

Hawke's head snaps up at the apology but he's just as lost as ever when Fenris doesn't offer anything else by way of explanation. "Why?"

"You were hurt," Fenris says, and he's calm enough that he must have expected the question. "I needed leverage and I had nothing else of interest to them."

The reminder that this is his fault, that Fenris went through all that for him, is not a welcome one, and Hawke pushes down his nausea. "That's not what I meant," he says gently. "I know why you did it. I just don't understand why you're apologising for it."

Fenris looks up at that, a crinkle of confusion between his brows. "I left you," he says and it takes a moment for Hawke to realise he's talking about their ill-fated night together.

"I told you I couldn't be with you, that it was too much for me," Fenris continues, "but then with the slaver, I..."

He trails off, lowering his eyes again, and for a long moment, Hawke can't do much more than stare in horrified disbelief.

"You think I'm angry with you for sleeping with someone else."

From the look on Fenris' face, that's exactly what he thinks and Hawke stares up at the torn wallpaper as he takes a shaky breath in and out. It _hurts_ , a dull, bone-deep pain spreading through his chest at the realisation that someone did this to Fenris, that some piece of shit taught him to expect this reaction, even from someone who loves him.

"I'm not angry," Hawke says. He's surprised at how easily the words come, one simple statement of fact after another. "No-one should be angry with you for that. Fenris, it wasn't your fault. That bastard raped you. "

"He didn't," Fenris says with awful confidence, "I offered. I went willingly."

"Yeah, to save me," Hawke says. It's no more palatable out loud than in his head. "Would you have let him do that to you if not for me?"

Fenris hesitates, lip caught between his teeth and Hawke pushes on, "If it was just you, no medical supplies on the line, would you have let him treat you like that? Let him beat you, whip you, spit at you-"

"No," Fenris says sharply. His hands are shaking as he tucks them between his thighs. "But I agreed-"

"It doesn't matter," Hawke says. "You were forced into something you didn't want to do. It wasn't your fault."

Fenris swallows, lips pressed together, and Hawke watches the bob of his throat beneath the livid purple ligature mark. The dark circles under his eyes seem to bleed into the bruises when he looks up, painfully hopeful. "You aren't angry with me?"

"Fenris, I don't think it's possible for me to be any less angry with you," he says with a weak smile. "The slavers, on the other hand, deserved more painful deaths than they got."

Fenris gives a one-shouldered shrug, tucking his leg beneath him. "It's nothing I haven't done before."

"The killing?"

Fenris meets his eyes and Hawke's heart sinks. "Ah. Not the killing."

"I should have told you sooner," Fenris says. "You had the right to know how I served Danarius before you took me to your bed."

"I didn't have the right to know anything," Hawke says. "I know I can be a nosy bastard sometimes but your past is your own. You don't need to tell me anything if you don't want to."

He hesitates, trying to figure out the best way to say it. "That goes for what happened with the slavers too."

Fenris' brow furrows. "But you were there. You saw-"

"I know," Hawke says, "and I'm sorry I did, but no-one else has to find out if you don't want them to."

From the stunned look on his face, the thought of confidentiality had never crossed Fenris' mind. "You didn't tell them?"

"Nope," Hawke says with a small smile. "It wasn't my information to share."

He catches the glint in Fenris' eyes for a moment before he blinks it away and gives Hawke a grateful nod. "Thank you."

The fact that basic decency apparently inspires such gratitude from Fenris is not a comforting thought. He badly wants to reach out, offer some kind of comfort beyond just words, but his hand only gets as far as the table before he's pulled up short by his better judgment.

"For the record," he says sincerely, "no-one would think less of you if you did decide to tell them. I definitely don't."

Fenris shakes his head in disbelief. "How can you say that when you watched me beg a slaver to fuck me? Or did you think so little of me before?"

"No!" Hawke says quickly. "Of course not. But I'm not about to hold you responsible for things other people made you do."

Fenris looks skeptical and Hawke shuffles his chair a little closer as he says, "Okay, pretend it was me. Let's say some shady villain abducted my sister, held a knife to her throat and told me to announce that Tevinter is the best place in all of Thedas. Would you be angry at me if I said it?"

A bemused smile plays on Fenris' lips. "No."

"Of course not." He grins. "Everyone knows Fereldan is really the best. But the same applies for you. I think that slaver is a piece of shit for what he did to you but I don't think any less of you for getting through it. The opposite even -- I'm amazed you held it together as long as you did. I wouldn't have made it out of there alive if not for you."

Fenris' smile is weak but sincere. "You were very heavy."

Hawke laughs before putting his hand to his stomach with a feigned gasp. "Just what are you implying?"

Fenris rolls his eyes, relaxing for the first time since Hawke walked in, and Hawke reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "I really am sorry about passing out. It was very unhelpful of me."

"I forgive you," Fenris says, curling his fingers around Hawke's hand. "I'm glad you're safe."

"The feeling is mutual," Hawke promises. Fenris shies away when he reaches out to inspect his bruises and Hawke keeps his tone light when he says, "I can get Anders to heal you up if you want? It may need to wait 'til tomorrow though -- he's making some unpleasant soup tonight."

Fenris wrinkles his nose. "Carrot again?"

"He's a very strange man," Hawke agrees.

"I'm all right," Fenris says, smiling. "I'll leave the mage to his soup. Besides, I think asking him to heal welts may raise more questions than I would like."

"Fair point," Hawke says. "Are they sore?"

"They barely broke the skin," Fenris says. "They'll heal. How about you? How's your stomach?"

"Fewer gaping holes," Hawke says, patting his bandages, "which is a start. I would like to lie down and not move for a long time though."

"I should let you go," Fenris says. He catches his lip between his teeth before asking, "Unless you'd prefer to stay?"

Hawke opens his mouth to protest but Fenris beats him to it. "Just to sleep," he says. "The gangs will be out by now and I don't think either of us want another fight today."

"Are you sure?" Hawke asks. "If there was ever a day to want some space..."

"I'm sure," Fenris says shyly. "I think I would prefer company."

Hawke ducks into the best bow he can manage while sitting down. "In that case, lead the way."

He's deeply grateful for both Fenris' patience and upper body strength as they limp their way upstairs. The mansion is no warmer up here but the small piles of Fenris' clutter are reassuringly familiar, as is the simple bed in the corner. It's smaller than Hawke's, although not by much, and he tugs off his boots, shirt and pants before making a beeline for the blankets.

"I might have human pajamas somewhere?" Fenris offers from across the room.

"Eh," Hawke says. "They'll either belong to a dead guy or Danarius. I'll pass." He yawns, enjoying the lack of pressure on his wound as he stretches out in the bed. "Also finding pajamas would involve standing up."

"Clearly unacceptable," Fenris says.

Hawke beams at the return of the usual teasing. "Exactly," he says, unabashed. "See, you get me."

"How reassuring," Fenris deadpans.

The candles flicker as he strips down, pulling off his leggings and tunic, and Hawke winces at the sight of the bruises littering his hips. There's a bootprint on his back, overlain with angry welts, and Hawke fights to tamp down his anger as Fenris pulls on a soft-looking sleepshirt and some short pants.

He blows out the candles as he crosses the room and Hawke blinks to adjust to the moonlight as Fenris settles into bed beside him.

There's a long moment as they both shift to get comfortable, careful to maintain an appropriate friendship distance, but Hawke jumps when Fenris' hand brushes his shoulder. Fenris' head soon follows, resting close enough for Hawke to feel the tickle of his hair as he curls up beside him.

"I-" Fenris fidgets, nervous. "Is this-"

"Yes!" Hawke coughs. "I, uh- Yes."

"Your wound-"

"It's fine. Can barely feel it."

Some of the tension ebbs when Fenris chuckles and Hawke finds himself smiling too as he stares up at the ceiling. "Okay, maybe I can still feel it but this is still fine. Although you need to tell me if I start hogging the blankets."

He can feel Fenris smile against his shoulder as he cuddles in closer. "Agreed."

Silence settles over them, comforting rather than smothering this time, and Hawke lets his eyes fall closed as his breathing evens out. Fenris is warm beside him, calm and safe and loved, and it's that knowledge which soothes him as he sinks into sleep.

If Fenris holds onto him a little tighter as he does so, Hawke's not about to comment on it.


End file.
